


Nightmares

by Dragon_Shaman



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nigthmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Shaman/pseuds/Dragon_Shaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even years later, nigtmares still plagued them--but now they were no longer alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is just little drabble thingy I posted on Tumblr and liked enough to post here as well. 
> 
> Note--this is unbetaed and unedited, so all mistakes are my own. If you see any feel free to point them out--thank you!
> 
> Enjoy!

Even years after their relationship went from reluctant comrades to friends to lovers—even after Danarius was dead and they had fled Kirkwall, the sky full of smoke and fire—even after the inquisition had been built and the mage/Templar war stopped—even after Leliana was made Divine and the mages freed and Anders pardoned, the College standing proud and tall, Fiona its proud headmistress—even after all that...nightmares still plagued them both.

They were few and far between, and most nights, they were not as vivid as they had once been--for the things that had caused them in the first place were long gone now, fading memories that could no longer touch them. MOST nights. Some nights, it was like those causes were not even a minute behind them; their wounds fresh and bleeding, the fear a terrible ball of ice and poison festering inside them, making it hard to breathe, to think, as darkness descended upon them. On those nights, they would thrash and scream desperately trying to escape only to find themselves pinned down, helpless. Or worse, they would lay ram-rod straight, shaking but otherwise unable to move, to even make a sound. And always, they were alone. Except...they were not alone. Not anymore. While one was snared in the dark, the other—always there, always close, wrapped around them so they could hear their heart beating, and therefore able to tell when the other was caught—would pull them out of dark.

They would not shake them or call their name—Anders always whimpered when shook, especially when hearing a raised voice. It reminded him too much of being in the Circle, watched, always watched, the threat of punishment hanging over his head should he make the slightest wrong move, as well as being on the run, having to hide during raids in Darktown, hating the sound of his name on the Templars’ lips, the word promising pain if he was found. And being held—restricted, immobile, unable to flee—brought him straight back to solitary, the oppressive darkness caused by windowless walls and a locked cell door that made it impossible to tell how long he had been there, accompanied by a silence so heavy it hurt his ears, making him think that was it, that was the time they would forget he was even there and he would die in the dark.

As for Fenris, being shook made him feel as though he was under attack, images of faceless, hunters crowding his mind's eye as he lashed out wildly. Hearing his name being called when in the throes of a nightmare only made him think of Hadriana as she hounded his sleep, night after night, delighting in the mistakes he would make in result which led to swift punishment—or of Danarius as he called him from the doorway to his ornate bedroom, his eyes lustful as his gaze swept up and down the elf's body, a leer twisting his lips. Yet the holding was worst, for it brought him right back to when the markings were carved into his flesh. Strapped down, he could only scream until he lost his voice as the molten metal was poured into his skin, the pain so great as to wipe away everything until he knew only pain, saw it as the beginning and the end, believing that he had born into this—and in it he would die.

They learned not to do these things quickly, each method ending in bruises and cuts and tears and once a broken wrist—a clean break, easily mended—but Fenris still felt guilt over the event even years later. So instead of shaking or calling or tightly grasping the other, they would draw them out of their nightmares with softs touches—feather-light, nothing like the roughness they were used to: kisses and caresses, strokes of the head and the arms and the hands, away from the other's scars. They would whisper, not their name, but sweet words of comfort and love, reminding them they were safe, nothing could hurt them, they were not alone.

And slowly, the other's breathing would become less ragged, more easy and even. They would stop thrashing, or their body would relax, their cries dying away, turning to whimpers as they turned to their lover, who would still be whispering, be touching, be caressing. And after a time, the one having the nightmare would wake as the darkness was pushed back by a glowing warmth. They would open their eyes and the first thing they would see would be the other smiling at them softly, their eyes overflowing with love.

For a while they lay that way, one listening as the other continued to whisper and sooth with gentle touches, and then the one who'd been trapped would scoot close until there was not even air between them, and bury their head in their lover's chest, their arms locked tight around them, a sigh escaping their lips as the other would return the embrace, and they would no longer fear being held close—for the knew now they were not trapped or restrained, but were protected, shielded from the darkness that had tried so hard to drag them down and break them. And after a time they would both fall back asleep, the one who'd had the nightmare closing their eyes and listening to their lover's heartbeat, the sound strong and reassuring, as their lover kissed the other before resting their head on their lover's, unaware now that still words of comfort and love fell from their lips until their mouth went slack with sleep, the words seeping into the other's dreams and keeping them light...

On the mornings after these nights, they would sleep in until well after noon, reveling in the comfort and closeness of the other as the sky slowly lightened and the world was bathed in gold. While those nights were now far and few between, they did not expect them to ever stop happening; what they’d experienced were not things they could ever truly forget and the scares left by those experiences would always be with them. But they were easier to bear now all these years later—for now they were safe, they were loved, and they were no longer alone.

They would never be alone again.


End file.
